Give You A Lift
by Lady Myotismon
Summary: Ethan Thomas, homeless alcoholic, gets some charity from a surprising source. Based on the Condemned games specifically the second one, but can still be understood if you've only played the first .


**Disclaimer: **I don't own the game condemned. And I don't own a cat called Big Mama. I don't own a cat at all, actually.

**Author's Notes:** A really crack!pairing story written for a friend of mine. It's Ethan with a character that you probably don't even remember because he was so unimportant - a cop that gives you a lift into the Museum. It's an inside joke, but this story isn't comedy.

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_**Give You A Lift**_

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It was another night on the streets, curled up in a dark alley that reeked of garbage, a half-empty bottle of tequila the only comfort. Ethan Thomas was invisible to everyone as he drank and watched vehicles speed past on the road. The taste of alcohol was hardly soothing anymore, but it kept the hangovers at bay, so he continued drinking. He had grown accustomed to hunger, but whenever he felt the threat of sobriety, it was back to the liquor store, shoplifting as much as he could. He used to be a law enforcer, but nowadays he could hardly think of a law he had not broken.

When the bottle was nearly empty (he always saved a couple sips for emergencies), Ethan sprawled out on his back and stared up at the night sky. The pale moonlight fought unsuccessfully to break through the dense clouds. He closed his eyes and sighed. The sigh was not a melancholy of bitter one; he was numb to those emotions now. It was just a meaningless sigh. As soon as it escaped his lips, he was out cold, the bottle of tequila still clutched tightly in his grubby fingers.

Ethan woke up just a few hours later when it began drizzling. At first, he intended to sleep through it, because he desperately needed a shower anyways, but the rain became more intense and he decided to find some shelter.

He downed the rest of the booze and chucked the bottle away, listening to it shatter against the side of the building. Then he pulled out his wallet, which was full of cash to the point that the seams were ripping, most of which was hundred dollar bills or more - he no longer used a bank. It took him a while to search for a lower bill, and eventually he found a ten and shoved the wallet back into his pants pocket. He balled the bill in his fist and left the alley, wandering down the sidewalks, looking out for some place opened twenty four hours. He was soaked to the bone when he eventually found a shady restaurant with an opened sign flickering in the window. The place was completely empty except for a single waiting, seated outside under an awning, puffing away at a cigarette. Ethan was half-way to the door when someone called out, "Hey! Ethan Thomas!"

For a brief moment, Ethan considered ignoring the voice, but he did end up turning around. Behind him was a police car, and its driver had rolled down his window and was waving enthusiastically. "Hey, Ethan! What are you up to?"

Ethan was confused. He took a step closer to the car and squinted, studying the face. It was unfamiliar. No matter how many names and situations he pulled up from the depths of his mind, sluggish and dulled by the alcohol, he couldn't recognize this police officer. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Oh,"the cop said and laughed sheepishly. "How embarrassing. You don't remember me? I'm the cop who gave you a lift up at the museum? When the mayor's body was found?"

Ethan did remember now. When they had found the mayor's decapitated body in the museum, this particular cop had been there to help him investigate. They were under strict orders not to enter the museum itself, but the cop had actually helped him sneak in by lifting him over a wall. "Oh, yeah," he grunted.

The cop beamed. "You're a bit hard to forget. You look like a wild man. Why don't you get in the car? It's pouring!" He leaned over and opened the passenger door for Ethan, who remained in the rain for a moment, considering what he was doing, before climbing in the car. "Do you need a ride home, man? My shift's over. I was just about to call it a night myself."

"No," Ethan said simply, an ironic smile playing at the corner of his lips. Home? He couldn't think of the last time he had been there.

"Oh," the cop said, but he wasn't discouraged. "Well, do you need a lift somewhere else? You really shouldn't be walking around in this rain."

"No," Ethan repeated, about to get out of the car.

"Please, Ethan, let me help you!" the cop said, grabbing Ethan's wrist and pulling him back inside. "At least come to my place. I'll dry those clothes for you. And you can take a shower if you'd like, even shave that filthy beard of yours." He laughed heartily and started the car again. "Seriously, though, if you'd like to come back, you could clean yourself up and have some dinner. I rarely have guests, so you'd be very welcome. I could even make my mom's lasagna recipe."

The thought of a shower, full belly, and clothes right out of the dryer could have given Ethan a boner. "Sounds great," he said, and kicked his feet up on the dashboard, jerking the seat back into an incline so that he could relax as the cop drove off towards home.

Home ended up being an apartment on a nicer side of town. It was sparsely furnished, but the furniture he did have was quite stylish and modern. A broad window in the kitchen overlooked the docks, where drops of rain created tiny ripples over the entire length of the river and barges slowly crept past, piled high with garbage headed for the dumps. It was quite beautiful for a city landscape. Ethan was somewhat impressed.

They were greeted at the door by a fat black cat which wove between their ankles as they entered. The cop crouched down to stroke it under its chin and the room was immediately filled with loud purring. "This is Big Mama," he introduced her to Ethan before removing the shirt of his uniform, revealing a dingy wife beater underneath. "I found her and her thirteen kittens abandoned in a bag behind the building on the same day I moved in. She's been with me ever since. The kittens I sold, I used the money to get her spayed and pay for her shots. She's the best pet I've ever had."

Ethan didn't exactly know what to say. He had never been a big animal person. He forced a smile and said, "She's pretty."

A huge smile spread across the cop's face. "Thanks!" he got to his feet and walked down the hall to a little room on the left, where he tossed his shirt down on the floor. "Give me your clothes and I'll throw them in the dryer with mine," he said. "Bathroom's over there," he pointed to the door over his shoulder. "If you'd like to take a shower, you can. There's shampoo and stuff in the shower. And if you want to shave I have a whole bag of disposable razors under the sink."

Ethan began making his way towards the bathroom. The cat followed at his heels as if she had known him her entire life. He was, admittedly, a little pleased. Before he opened the bathroom door, the cop stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Ethan," the cop said, "I know it's none of my business, but please shave. You look like a crazed hobo."

Ethan chuckled, genuinely amused at how true the statement was. He shut the door behind him, leaving the cat out in the hallway. The bathroom was surprisingly clean, and there were almost no decorations whatsoever. White walls, while tiles, white sink, toilet, and tub. The only splash of color in the whole room was a dramatic burgundy shower curtain. He turned on the shower as hot as it would go and undressed as the shower adjusted its temperature. He opened the door a crack to toss his sopping wet clothes across the hall into the washroom and stood in front of the mirror, staring at his nude body while the mirror clouded up. He was filthy and covered in bruises and scars. When he could no longer see his reflection, he opened the drawer under the sink. Inside were stacks of extra toilet paper, the package of disposable razors, a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. Seeing the signs that his host was sexually active, he suddenly felt like an intruder. He picked up the condoms; they were a ribbed regular size and expired by almost a year. The lube was a small, unopened bottle, some generic brand with "Tingling Sensation!" printed on the front in huge letters. Ethan exhaled, took a razor, and shut the door, suddenly feeling awkward and tense.

All of the negative feelings were instantly forgotten when he stepped into the shower. It was scalding hot on his cold flesh, and he could feel the dirt and grime running off his skin. The water pooling around his feet was quickly turned an almost black color. He scrubbed his head thoroughly with a handful of shampoo and conditioner until his fingertips were sore. And he did shave, his face underneath the hair was pallid and rough. He was in the shower for over a half of an hour before turning off the water and stepping out to look at himself in the mirror. In his reflection, he could see remnants of the man he had once been. He touched his sunken eyes, his crow's feet, and felt like Ethan Thomas, just an older and more exhausted one.

Still nude, he peered out of the bathroom door. Steam poured into the hallway. He could smell garlic and tomatoes wafting towards him from the kitchen, and his stomach rumbled. The cat, who had been lounging on the floor at her master's feet, noticed Ethan and padded across the room to greet him with her soft mews. The police officer looked up from the stove and grinned when he saw Ethan's face peeking out of the bathroom. "Hey! You shaved like I asked!" he laughed, and set the spoon down to rush down the hall and into a room, presumably his bedroom. He returned with a red bathrobe. "I've already started the laundry," he said, "But you can wear this until they're done."

Ethan disappeared back into the bathroom with the robe in his arms. It was soft, but definitely not his style – too homely and soft. He put it on anyway. It was tight on his muscular shoulders and chests, but fit everywhere else, so he reluctantly wore it out to the hallway. In the kitchen, on a small table, was a plate full of steaming lasagna waiting for him to devour it. His host was already eating, slipping pieces from his plate onto a saucer on the floor for Big Mama, who was licking her chops and watching him with greedy eyes. When he had finished, she pounced upon the plate like a violent predator. As Ethan settled down in the chair beside the cop, he could hear Big Mama's purrs over the clinking of silverware.

"Eat as much as you want. I hate leftovers," the cop said. Ethan was determined not to let him down. He ate and ate until he felt that he would explode. All the while, the cop spoke of the recipe and his job and his mother, taking small bites and eating slowly. Ethan hardly paid any attention, only pausing as he chewed to grunt in response. He occasionally mumbled thanks to his host as he piled more food onto his plate. Once he was finished, there was hardly anything left in the platter. He sat back, balancing on the back legs of his chair, rubbing his stuffed stomach as his host continued talking. "It gets very lonely sometimes. The cat is a great companion, but it's not the same as another human, you know? Sometimes I leave the television on just so it sounds like there's someone else here. Being on the force leaves me very little time to socialize. I haven't had a relationship in almost two years."

Ethan recalled the expiration date on the box of condoms and smirked. It aligned perfectly with his host's story. He had Ethan beat, but just barely. Ethan had almost forgotten what it felt like to have a hot, sweating body writhing underneath his weight, quite moans of his name ringing in his ears… "Ethan?"

The voice he heard certainly wasn't what he remembered. He was drawn back into reality, and found himself staring into the concerned face of his host. "Ethan, are you all right?"

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his face with his palms. "I was daydreaming."

"Oh, well I just asked… nevermind, it's not a big deal. I'm going to take your clothes out of the dryer so that they don't shrink. I'll hang them up to dry," he said, and got up to check the dryer.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said, "what did you ask? I'm just sort of… out of it." He got up and started collecting the plates with every intention to clean them.

"Please, leave them there. I can clean them when you're gone. It'll give me something to do," his host said. Ethan set the plates back on the table and stood there, awkwardly, wondering what to do now. "Still a bit wet." The cop got some clothespins from a basket in the laundry room and headed for the bathroom, where he hung them up from the top of the shower curtain to dry. He returned to the main room of the apartment, where he ushered Ethan to a seat on the couch. "Please, relax. We can… watch television until your clothes are dried. Or, if you're tired, I can bring out some blankets for you to sleep on the couch. I wish I had another bed I could offer you. If you'd like you're welcome to sleep in my bed. Without me in it, of course! It's a bit dirty but not much worse than the couch. Oh, and I have some ice cream! I could make coffee for us, and we could have desert. I'll make something - "

"Shut up," Ethan growled. "You don't need to do anything more for me. Besides, I'm thinking of a better way to pass the time."

"What? Do you want to play a game? I have loads of board games, and video games, too. Or else we can play a card game…" the cop said, but there was a blush on his face that suggested he was thinking of a much less innocent game to play.

"Not exactly," Ethan said, getting to his feet. "Here, let me give you a lift." He pulled the cop to his feet and shoved him up against a wall.

As clothing was shed, Big Mama sulked out of the room, jealous that the humans were too busy petting each other to give her a single stroke.


End file.
